


When you take my body to the stars

by anoneknewmoose



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: D/s, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Face-Fucking, M/M, Podfic Welcome, Slut Shaming, Touring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-29
Updated: 2013-03-29
Packaged: 2017-12-06 20:07:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/739609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anoneknewmoose/pseuds/anoneknewmoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete and Patrick after the Austin SXSW Perez Hilton showcase show...thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When you take my body to the stars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pennyplainknits](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pennyplainknits/gifts).



> Inspired by pennyplainknits, written to keep girlpearl entertained during our drive back from Boston, beta'd by mwestbelle. Title from Ke$ha's "Supernatural."

Patrick's chest hits the brick wall and he grunts, cursing under his breath. A nose-- _Pete's_ nose--snuffles into his hairline on the back of his neck, tickling sweaty hair away from sticky skin.

"Pete, you fucker," Patrick says. He finds his hands and pushes against the wall, back into Pete's solid heat, and Pete whines.

"Sorry, Trick, you're just. So fucking hot out there." Pete grinds against him, letting Patrick feel exactly how hot Pete finds him. Fuck. 

"This is South By, asshole, we're in _Texas_." But Patrick can't resist arching his back, rubbing his ass over Pete's crotch and bending his head to kiss Pete's wrist.

"Whatever, it's Austin," Pete mutters. "And you did that _thing_ with your _hat_." 

Patrick shoots Pete a smirking grin over his shoulder. "Yeah, I did, didn't I?"

"You magnificent asshole," Pete says. His eyes light up and he tugs on Patrick's hip until they're pressed chest to chest, Patrick's back hard against the wall, his feet barely avoiding the straps of his shoulder bag on the floor. 

Patrick's elbows scrape on the brick and he hisses, grabbing Pete's hair. He pulls hard, hauling Pete in for a kiss. They're safe enough back stage, at a Perez Hilton show, for a quick and dirty kiss, grinding hot and close. The show was fucking _good_ , the audience singing along with every word until Patrick couldn't stop grinning and his body resonated with every chord from his guitar. The hiatus was the best thing they ever did for themselves, for their band. It feels like he's meeting Pete on more even footing now, and Patrick gives as good as he gets, both on stage and off. They break apart to catch their breaths and press their foreheads together.

"We should...can we get a cab here? Can a cab get to us?" Patrick asks. The crowds outside were insane and Patrick has no doubt that their fans are now circling the venue.

He also doesn't doubt that Pete has a plan. Pete _always_ has a plan, even when his eyes are big and his hands are clutching at Patrick's ass. 

Patrick rubs a thumb over Pete's lower lip and shivers as he watches Pete's eyes grow darker. "Baby. Hotel," he says.

Hotel is the magic word. Pete nods and grabs his hand; Patrick barely has time to grab his shoulderbag before they're weaving through the crowd, Perez's guests and techs and locals who finagled their way backstage, all way more interested in each other and the free booze than two short dudes in the shadows. Pete leads him to a rusted firedoor that spits them out into an alley that, mercy of all mercies, leads to an actual street with car traffic instead of pedestrians. There's even a cab waiting that Pete pulls him into.

"You're kind of creepy, dude," Patrick says. He leans in quickly to kiss Pete's pout away. "I wasn't _complaining_."

"Better not," Pete says. Their cabbie is wearing a cowboy hat so they restrain themselves, or rather, Patrick sits and stares out the window while Pete's hand walks its way up the inside of his thighs, fingers tracing the outline of his cock in his jeans.

Fuck, how did he let Pete talk him into these stupid jeans? 

Their hotel, thank god, isn't far from the SXSW venues but is far enough off the main drag that no one is around when Pete shoves cash at the driver. It's Patrick's turn to drag him this time, inside and into the elevator, holding his hand tightly until they're _finally_ in their hotel room. 

Patrick fully expects to be slammed against a wall again, but Pete just pushes Patrick into the armchair and crawls into his lap. He tosses Patrick's hat across the room and gently removes Patrick's glasses, setting them carefully on the table, and blushes as soon as he sees Patrick's amused expression. 

"Shut up, the last time I cracked your glasses you barely spoke to me for a week." 

"You broke them with your _fist_ ," Patrick snorts. He wraps his hands around Pete's hips and pulls him closer. "But I'm impressed to see that you can learn."

"Fuck you," Pete says. He leans in and bites Patrick's neck, hard, and Patrick groans. Pete has a _thing_ about Patrick's neck, and Patrick can't let him indulge while they're touring. The last thing he needs is hickeys in pictures on the internet. Patrick opens his eyes and realizes Pete's smirking at him. "See," he says, "I learn just fine when it comes to you, Pattycakes."

"How many years have I been kicking your ass for calling me that, Wentz?" Patrick scowls and pushes Pete roughly off the chair. Pete falls clumsily to one knee and Patrick spreads his legs. 

"Not enough," Pete says, fervently enough that Patrick can feel his own cheeks reddening. He watches Pete crawl forward and reaches out to pet Pete's hair. He grabs the curls, and Pete's mouth drops open, panting. "Let me make it up to you?" 

"Yeah, yeah. I always do," Patrick says. He rolls his eyes fondly. Pete's always so fucking _antagonistic_ , but he's eager as shit to get his mouth on Patrick's cock, fingers fumbling at Patrick's fly. "You know, if you wanted to suck my dick, you could just say so."

"Not nearly as fun," Pete grumbles, shooting Patrick a pout and rubbing his cheek against Patrick's cock in his briefs. Patrick sucks in a quick breath.

"No?" Patrick asks, and he hitches his hips up enough that Pete can get his pants and underwear down around his ankles. Patrick adjusts his grip in Pete's hair and pulls again, up and forward, yanking Pete's face into his groin. "You want this instead? Want me to make you?" 

"Fuck. Yes," Pete says, muffled, lips moving over Patrick's cock. His tongue slips out along the ridge under the head, and Patrick moans for him.

"Yeah, you do," Patrick says. Pete's fucking clever with his tongue, always has been, and Patrick can feel his smile as he licks. Patrick wraps his hand around the base of his cock and slaps it against Pete's cheek, choking back a moan at the wave of pleasure. "Fuck, Pete, you have such a pretty mouth, you know that? Fucking love watching you suck my cock." 

"Fucking love _sucking_ your cock," Pete says.

"Course you do," Patrick says. He holds Pete's head firmly and trails the head of his cock over his full lips. Fuck, he loves watching Pete's face get smeared with spit and precome. "You want my cock, want it stuffing your mouth, want me to fuck your throat. Don't you, baby?"

"Yeah," Pete breathes. His mouth drops open, and he tries to chase Patrick's cock, wincing every time he comes up short against Patrick's grip in his hair. 

"Slut," Patrick says. Pete's eyes squeeze shut and he visibly shudders, whining; Patrick chooses then to pull him forward and push his cock into his mouth. Pete gasps around it but takes it easily as his eyes fly open. Patrick groans at the intensity of his gaze--it's never as simple as a look with Pete, it's _gazes_ and scrutiny and a host of other things depending on Pete's mood. Tonight it's awe and thanks and desire, making Patrick feel hot all over and desperate to take what Pete's offering.

Patrick slumps in his chair and grabs Pete's hair with both hands, pulling him close until Pete gags. His throat closes around the head of Patrick's cock, deliciously hot muscle rippling over him. Almost as it registers Patrick drags Pete's head back, then hauls him forward, hips snapping in time until he's fucking Pete's face in a fast harsh staccato. It's too much of a shock to the system for words, and that's always been more Pete's domain anyway. The room fills instead with grunts and pants, wet choking noises and Patrick's muttered curses, _fuck_ and _shit_ and _yeah, God_.

Tension builds in Patrick's body, toes curling in his shoes and stomach quivering from the workout. He's sweating again and feels a little dizzy, still fucking buzzing on the adrenaline from the show. His world narrows to Pete's fingers digging into his calves and the heat pooling low in his belly until he comes with a strangled groan. 

Patrick stomps against the hotel carpet with a dull thud as his orgasm crashes over him, hips grinding into Pete's face. Fuck, and Pete _is_ such a slut, not fighting for breath at all. He just moans and does his best to swallow everything Patrick gives him. Patrick sighs heavily and sinks back into the chair, letting his cock fall out of Pete's mouth.

"Fuck, baby," Patrick says. He eases his grip on Pete's hair and runs his thumb over Pete's swollen lips, smearing come across his cheek, then carefully wipes tears away with his middle finger. "Fuck, you're pretty."

"If you say so," Pete says. His voice sounds _shredded_ and he looks wrecked, for all that Patrick can see his cock straining against his fly. 

Patrick huffs and pulls up on his hair, more gentle than before but insistent. It takes Pete a moment, but when he catches on he crawls into Patrick's lap willingly, curling up with his knees beside Patrick's hips and his face tucked into Patrick's neck.

"I _do_ say so," Patrick says to him, nuzzling at his hair. Pete's clinging to him like a baby monkey so Patrick reaches between them himself to unzip him, carefully reaching into Pete's insanely tight jeans to lift his cock out. Pete sighs, a soft puff of breath against Patrick's sweaty neck, and Patrick hums for him. "Fuckin hot, baby. Take my cock down your throat like a pro, don't you?"

"Yeah," Pete whines. Patrick squeezes his cock gently, gathers precome in his palm for slick. Pete's almost shaking, a fine tremble that echoes every move of Patrick's fingers around his cock. 

"Mm, such a good little cock sucker," Patrick says, wrapping his free arm around Pete's waist, holding him close while he strokes. Pete's close already, Patrick can hear it in his breathing. His cock is leaking, making it easy for Patrick to jerk him off while he whispers into his ear. "You've been thinking about that all night, haven't you, Pete? Wishing you could kneel for me onstage, in front of God and everyone, suck my dick while I sing."

"Fuck, Trick," Pete says. His hips hitch, fucking Patrick's grip, and his sharp little teeth nibble at Patrick's neck. Fucker. "God, yes, I was. I would."

"I know," Patrick says. He rubs his cheek against Pete's until Pete picks up and kisses him, sloppy and wet, more panting into each other's mouths and Pete sucking on Patrick's tongue than anything else. Patrick strokes him faster, squeezes his ass, and Pete comes over his hand with a quiet broken whimper. 

Patrick eases off as soon as Pete's finished, murmuring nonsense that he will do his best to not remember saying and Pete will sneak into texted love poems in six months. He has zero brain to mouth filter here, when they're at their closest, tangled together and kissing lazily as they try to remember how limbs work. 

They have all the time in the world. Patrick's going to enjoy this while he's got it.


End file.
